


like real people do

by firefliesandstarlight



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Canon Compliant, F/F, Found Family, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Immortal Wives Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Canon, briefly for booker:, i just really want quynh to come back and for everything to work out okay, their dynamic is bad inside jokes and poorly concealed trauma and i am Here For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefliesandstarlight/pseuds/firefliesandstarlight
Summary: When Nile’s dreams of Quynh change, the team is at a loss. Their first reaction is, of course, questions, many questions: How did she escape? Where is she, and how did she get there? But their second reaction is to find their long-lost friend and help her recover, no matter how badly five hundred years under the sea has changed her.-Post-Merrick, after the exile agreement and the team has started trying to get back on their feet, the world is thrown upside down again, and it’ll take everything they’ve got to stay upright.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, and then the general team dynamic ofc
Comments: 18
Kudos: 136





	1. in some sad way i already know

Nile is the reason they find out Quynh has escaped. She tells them, when her dreams change. When she wakes up gasping at night, no longer haunted by a drowning woman in an iron coffin, but by notions of freedom that flit just out of her reach, by a warrior unchained. Nile does not know whether to be joyful or terrified—Quynh is out, yes, but Nile can still feel her fury from that first dream. She wrings her hands and cannot find it in herself to meet Andy’s eyes when she admits to the team what she’s seen.

“Back up, back up,” Joe says, running a hand over his tired face. It must be two in the morning—not even close to sunrise, yet—and he and Nicky are still in bed, sitting up, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder despite the decent-sized mattress. “Say it all again.”

“She’s out.” In response to the deafening silence in the room, Nile stands, emphasizing her words. “I swear it! I saw her. In Europe, somewhere, it looked like. She was… she was free.”

“And you’re sure,” Nicky says slowly, glancing over at Andy’s silhouette in the doorway, “You’re sure it was her,  _ now _ ? Not a memory, from before?”

“I’m positive! She was in new clothes, modern clothes, and there were cars driving down the street and everything. It was her.”

Nicky’s hand finds Joe’s, an anchor. Joe squeezes his hand.

“Where?” It's the first word Andy’s spoken since Nile woke up shuddering and Nicky had told her to tell them about the new dream. “In Europe. Where?”

Nile gathers her thoughts and chooses her words wisely. “I’m not… I’m not quite sure, to be honest, it was… it looked like Western Europe, the classic, y’know, England and Wales and France, sort of thing, but I’ve only ever really been in that area once, that one time, and, well…”  _ Didn’t do a lot of sightseeing, _ she doesn’t add, but everyone hears. It’s only been six and a half months since Nile joined the team, since the disaster at Merrick's, since Booker… needless to say, everything’s still fresh on everyone’s minds, and even the vaguest reference to the lab and all the still-smarting memories that come with it leave the room tense. Nicky leans his head on Joe’s shoulder.

“We should go look for her,” Nicky says softly, and it’s just the spark Andy needs.

She flares up, whirling around and saying, with no real venom behind her voice, “Should we, now?” Nile barely has a moment to open her mouth to reply before Andy’s gone, stalking out of the room and disappearing around a corner in the hallway. Nile doesn’t say a word, and neither do Joe and Nicky, though they exchange a glance that seems to hold an entire conversation within its microseconds; they’re all waiting to hear a door slam, or at the very least, open and shut. 

Nothing.

“Should we…?”

“No,” Joe says, leaning back against the wall. “Let Andy have her moment. She’ll come back to us.”

“Always does,” Nicky hums in agreement, propping his chin up on his knuckles and staring unseeingly in the direction Andy went. “You should get some rest, Nile.”

Joe nudges Nicky with his knee, and Nicky cracks a small smile. Joe shakes his head. “Yeah, I’ve got a feeling the next few days aren’t going to be very restful.”

Andy, from her position sitting back-to-the-wall, looking up at the ceiling, in the hallway, drops her head. She can hear her team’s conversation, of course—she didn’t go far, and despite her dwindling immortality, she’s retained most of the eavesdropping skills she’s amassed over a millennia—and as the sounds of their movements and conversation settle into those of measured breathing and sleep, she lets the weight of Nile’s revelation settle on her shoulders.

_ Quynh _ .

Andy thinks of her more often than she does her own faceless family. That was what Quynh became, after all—family. Of a different sort than her mother and her sisters, but family nonetheless.

_ And I let her down, _ Andy thinks, feeling the words beat against her heart like waves against shore during a violent storm.  _ I made her a promise, and I broke it. _

The worst thought of all, then:  _ She won’t want to see me. Not after what I've done, how I've betrayed her. She won’t want me anymore _ .

And at that, Andy breaks, the only sound escaping her a strangled choke as she represses a sob. It's not often she visibly falls apart like this, booze providing the facade-like shield she needs more often than not, but the hot tears tattooing Quynh’s sharp memory on her eyelids serve as the chisel that shatters her carefully constructed visage.  _ You are not invincible. You are not unbreakable. If you were not human before, you are now, and your human love will kill you _ .

Andy shakes her head, clenches a fist to stop her hands from trembling, and stands. Reenters the bedroom of the one-bed-one-bath they’d been holing up in on and off since the lab. Settles into her blanket nest on the ancient chair in the corner— _ Bet I'm older than you are, _ Andy mutters wryly, patting the chair’s arm—and closes her eyes, fully intending to get a solid 5 hours.

She dreams of Quynh.

She doesn’t mention it to the team in the morning.

It’s all memories, anyway. 

* * *

Nicky has a knack for making even the smallest and most understocked, most grungy kitchens centers of true culinary art. The team has known this for centuries; Nile, for only a few short months, but she’s yet to tire of waking up to the smell of the best breakfast ever made, whether it be eggs and toast or a full on, fancy spread like in the movies. Unlike the movies, though, Nicky’s breakfast spreads are always devoured in minutes, on the rare occasions he makes them. 

(The last occasion was Joe and Nicky’s anniversary. “Technically it’s not our real anniversary,” Joe had said with a conspiratorial wink, “but the anniversary of the day we decided we wanted to have an anniversary, and came up with a reason to commemorate it. But hey, it counts. Any excuse to celebrate my Nicolo.” Nicky had huffed a laugh and deposited another egg-tomato concoction on Joe’s plate, which Joe had eaten heartily, with no complaint.) 

This morning, though, the mood in the kitchen is somber. Andy picks at a plate of dry toast she made herself, to Nicky’s numerous objections. Joe sits hunched over a now-cold cup of coffee, seemingly lost in the gently spiraling depths. Nicky sits beside him, leaned all the way back in his chair, dish towel forgotten on his shoulder. He looks like he’s regretting not trying to sleep in longer. 

When Nile walks in, the already silent room somehow gets quieter. She sits wordlessly at the one empty seat at the table, between Nicky and Andy, holding a tupperware of leftovers from the night before; chicken masala isn’t exactly brilliant cold, but it was the first thing she saw in the fridge, and it’s too late to go back now. 

“So.” Nile is reminded of her first day with the team, their awkward dinner, the way she stared at everyone and everyone stared at her. 

Andy drops a piece of toast back onto her plate. 

“Is there a plan?” 

Nicky shakes his head slowly. Joe, in a sudden burst of movement, downs his entire cup of coffee in one go. Nicky reaches out to him, and Joe taps his hand once, a communication between them and them alone. 

“Plan!” Joe claps his hands together. The noise echoes in the little room. “What is our plan?” 

“We go to Europe,” Andy says, standing. Her chair scrapes back loudly on the floor, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “We go to Europe, and we start looking.” 

“Alright, boss,” Nicky says, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. 

“I’ll start packing.” Nile looks at each of them in turn: Andy, now standing over the sink, plate hovering inches from the faucet; Joe, alert and ready, somehow both energized and completely exhausted; and Nicky, cool and collected, unreadable where Joe was an open book and yet the most open of the four of them all at once. 

Nobody says the name hovering in the room. Nobody mentions that, as far as they knew, Western Europe means Booker, means a reunion ninety-nine years too early. 

“Ah, fuck.” 

At the sound of the plate shattering, everyone stands, alert. Nicky has a gun in his hand; Joe, a table knife. Nile is ready to run. 

Andy turns to them, left hand raised. “Sorry. Dropped my plate.” She wiggles her pointer finger, a bead of blood balancing on its tip. 

“Getting clumsy in your old age, boss?” Joe asks with a grin, setting the knife back down on the table. Nicky tucks away his gun, and Nile relaxes, letting her shoulders slump. 

“Shut up, Joe,” Andy says, but she’s grinning, too, and the mood in the kitchen lightens considerably. 

Nicky goes for the first-aid stash in the bathroom cupboard, while Nile and Joe start the not-very-lengthy process of packing up the few bags they have and gathering various items from around the apartment. Clothes, weapons, Joe’s sketchbook. Nile shoots him a raised eyebrow when Joe makes a stop in the kitchen and gently fills a backpack she’s never seen before with a few bottles of water, some leftovers, a few prepackaged food items, and one specific spatula. 

“Snacks for Nicky,” Joe explains, and then motions to the spatula. “Plus, his favorite cooking utensil.” 

“That specific one, huh?” 

“Yep,” Joe says happily, zipping up the backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. From the outside, you’d never know it was designated for Nicky’s snacks and not something like athletic equipment or survival tools. “We bought it in Lisbon, in the, what was it, Nicky, the 1700s?”

“Yes!” There’s a clomping noise, and Nicky appears, lugging a bag undoubtedly filled with weapons and other miscellaneous belongings. “The year before the earthquake, if I remember.” 

“Damn.” Nile stares disbelievingly at the spatula. “That spatula’s older than I am.” 

“So am I,” Andy calls from the next room, where she’s fighting a little paper square for the privilege of sticking a bandaid to her finger. So far, the paper square is winning. 

“I know, Andy.” 

“Most things are.” 

“I know, Andy.” 

Andy grins, finally victorious over the little square. Nile, still in the kitchen, smiles, too, and stuffs a couple water bottles in her own backpack. 

They’re out the door less than twenty minutes later, the apartment locked up and secure, bags loaded into the trunk of their latest vehicle. Andy drives, of course, with Joe in the passenger seat and Nicky and Nile in the back, and they set off in the direction of France, all deliberately trying to listen raptly to the music on the radio instead of their own, swarming, thoughts. 


	2. always seeking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some canon-typical swearing and mentions of blood, just fyi- nothing big, but i thought i'd tw it anyway. stay safe, y'all <3

The drive is long--about twenty hours--but the team plans on making it in one straight shot. Andy only lets Nicky take over driving after she nearly falls asleep at the wheel; after they rearrange seating, she sleeps with her jacket balled up under her head as a pillow, leaning against the window in the backseat. 

Eventually, after Andy’s been asleep for a while and the monotony of the drive lulls Nile to sleep, too, it’s just Joe and Nicky left awake. 

“Are they out?” Nicky whispers, glancing in the rearview mirror. 

“I think so,” Joe says after a lengthy pause, during which Andy shifts and drops her jacket and Nile mumbles something about iron. 

Nicky nods, the briefest motion, and decelerates slightly. Andy, while awake, was insistent that they maintain a consistent, very fast speed-- she’s not saying it, but they all know she’s anxious to be closer to Quynh, at the very least. Now that she’s asleep, though, Nicky can slow down without fear of being poked until he goes faster. 

Granted, he doesn’t slow down much; the French countryside is still a blur outside their windows. 

Joe’s gaze falls intermittently on the road ahead and the driver himself. He smiles softly, and, when Nicky says, “What? Is there something on my face?” Joe laughs, careful not to wake the sleeping passengers. 

“Nothing, nothing. You just look beautiful in moonlight, my love,” he says in whispered Italian. 

Nicky smiles. “Incurable romantic,” he answers, easing off the accelerator a bit more. 

“It’s chronic, unfortunately,” Joe says with a completely straight face, though his eyes give away his humor. “I know just what caused it, too.” 

“Do you?” Nicky slows enough that the scattered buildings and farmland they’re passing take on actual, discernable shape, instead of their usual indistinctly colored streaks. 

Joe points to a cow laying down in a field. “Look, Nicky, it’s a cow!” 

Nicky cranes his neck to look out the window as they pass it. “And a horse, too, Joe!” 

Their farm animal sightseeing is interrupted by a muted kick to the back of Nicky’s seat. 

Andy, having woken just enough to retrieve her jacket and refold it for use as her pillow, mumbles, “Drive faster.” 

“Yes, boss,” Nicky says, and accelerates slightly, but Andy is already back asleep when he glances in the rearview mirror again, so he goes just slow enough that he and Joe can still point out farm animals as they race by. 

* * *

It’s a few hours later, as the sun begins to rise, when Nile wakes, sitting bolt upright in her seat. Her seatbelt pulls taut, interpreting her sudden motion as a safety threat. Nile pushes against the belt, finally just pulling it up and over her head to get it out of her way. 

Andy wakes with a start, hand on the hilt of the dagger concealed in her boot. “Another one?” she asks, though by the look on Nile’s face, she already knows the answer. 

Nile nods. “Sorry I woke you up.” 

“We were already awake!” Joe says from the passenger seat, where he’s made himself comfortable leaning back against the door so he can see Nicky and the road at the same time. Nicky glances into the rearview mirror and gives Nile a little wave. 

“Good to know,” Nile says, sitting back in her seat and sighing. 

“Anything new?” Andy searches Nile’s eyes, desperate for a new clue, a new detail, anything that might lead them to Quynh faster. 

Nile shakes her head, then hesitates. “There was… I got a better idea of her surroundings, you know, the location. The, uh. The Eiffel Tower was in the background of one of the flashes.” 

Andy exhales and leans back. She doesn’t say a word; she doesn’t need to. 

_ Booker _ . 

His name hangs in the air above their heads, a stormcloud, foretelling rain. His betrayal still cuts deep--it’s another nightmare, added to their already overflowing supply. Nicky and Joe wake up reaching for each other, now, more than they ever did before; Nicky checking for cuffs around Joe’s wrists, Joe running his hand through Nicky’s hair and praying he doesn’t come away coated with blood and brain. 

“Are you sure?” Nicky asks, eyes cold. 

“Absolutely positive?” Joe sounds less like he’s asking and more like he’s pleading. 

Andy, still staring at Nile, closes her eyes and says dully, “She’s positive.” 

“Yeah,” Nile says. “Yeah, I am.” 

They drive on in relative silence, even after the tension eases and Nicky turns the radio back on (“What? I like French music.”) and Joe pulls Nicky’s snack bag out from the space at his feet at Nicky’s request. 

“What would you like, Nicolo?” 

“Hmm… what are my options?” 

Joe rattles off a list of snacks, and Nicky chooses one seemingly at random, though his choice makes Joe smile and the corners of Nicky’s eyes crinkle. 

Andy shakes her head at them, probably in on the joke, and Nile chuckles despite her confusion as to why those particular crackers are funny. 

* * *

With three hours to go until their arrival in Paris, Andy insists on driving the rest of the way, citing everything from her own boredom to Nicky’s lack of sleep as her reasoning. 

Nicky pulls over, and everyone gets out of the car. They do a quick rearrangement, Nicky and Andy trading places, and then Joe and Nile, and then they’re off once more. 

Andy drives much faster than Nicky does, Nile knows, but somehow Andy manages to speed up even more the closer they get to Paris. Joe and Nicky seem unconcerned--they both fall asleep in minutes, hands resting on the seat between them, fingertips touching--but Nile holds on to the passenger seat armrest with everything she has. 

“Andy?” 

“Mhmm?” 

“You are aware you’re literally going a hundred miles an hour, right?” 

Andy’s hands aren’t even tensed on the steering wheel. If Nile had to describe it, she’d say that Andy is  _ lounging _ , one hand on the wheel, the other propped up on the windowsill. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Okay, then. Just wanted to make sure.” 

Andy cracks a small smile that Nile pretends to miss, and their ride lapses once more into silence, interrupted only by Joe’s occasional snore. 

It is the opposite of silent, however, in Andy’s head. She’s thinking about Quynh, and chastising herself for it, and then her thoughts turn to Booker, and she steers away from that dark tunnel before she can even go there, but then she’s back at Quynh again… it’s a vicious cycle. 

_ Paris! Let’s think about going to Paris _ , Andy tells her brain, to which her brain replies,  _ Okay! Would you like to think about Quynh in Paris or Booker in Paris? Or both? You know it can’t possibly be a coincidence that Quynh showed up right where you know Booker still is. How about we explore that avenue of thought?  _

Andy taps her fingers on the steering wheel.  _ Let’s not _ , she thinks to herself, and does her best to come up with something else. 

She thinks of ancient battles, washed away by time, forgotten by everyone but her.  _ Everyone but you and Quynh _ , her brain corrects, but Andy shakes her head, still not used to the idea. 

It was easier, to think of Quynh as dead. To ignore the urge to dive into the ocean and swim to the bottom and drown time and time again until she found her. She almost did, once, in Dublin, sometime in the 1600s. Right after… Andy shakes her head again.  _ No, not that. Do not think about it _ . 

There’s a squirrel in the middle of the road. Andy swerves to avoid it, knuckles white. Nicky stirs, but doesn’t wake, and Joe doesn’t even shift. Nile gives Andy an odd look, but keeps quiet. 

She thinks of deserts, of dry skin and loneliness reborn into armor and companionship. She thinks of the necklace, older than the entire world’s people, the one link to Quynh she has left, sitting heavy around her neck-- a chain, a reminder. She thinks of cold nights by warm fires, of emerging unscathed from bloody battles, of an eternal family torn apart by a misstep, by a millisecond. 

She thinks of the years she had with Quynh, and the years she lost, and a thousand years seems like a smudged handprint on a mirror, the only thing left in the reflection her own face: a warrior, eternal; a warrior, undying; a warrior, broken. 

She thinks, Andy realizes belatedly, of love. Familial, yes, but at the same time, so much more than that. Love of the kind Joe and Nicky had forged, love softened by flame and made eternal by pure fucking willpower and promise. 

_ I broke my promise _ . 

The road widens into two lanes, and Andy hears Nile say something about another car. She snaps out of her reverie just barely in time to pull into the right lane and avoid a collision with a rather intimidating oncoming pickup truck. 

“You okay, boss?” Joe asks, voice thick with sleep, and Andy nods stiffly. 

“Are we there yet?” Nicky mumbles, and Joe takes his hand, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over Nicky’s palm. 

“Almost, love,” he says in a language Nile doesn’t recognize. “Almost.” 

Andy feels her eyes sting. 

“Do you want me to drive, Andy?” Nile says quietly, and Andy looks at this young woman who will grow older than hundreds of generations to come and shakes her head. 

“Nah, I’m good.” She smiles and drops an elbow, resumes her relaxed position. “Just thinking.” 

“If you say so,” Nile says, not taking her eyes off Andy’s face. Andy hides her free hand in her lap so Nile won’t see it shaking. 

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll get us there.” 

“I wasn’t second-guessing.” Nile holds up her hands in surrender. “You always do.” 

Andy nods. “I always do.” 

* * *

They arrive in Paris at noon and realize that they have no plan. 

“Alright, let’s brainstorm,” Nile says, once they’ve settled into the new safehouse they found after their old one was… well, after their old one Paris one was rendered unusable. “Ideas, people, ideas. Anyone?” 

Nicky smiles. “To be fair, Nile, we left Italy with the plan to scour the city once we arrived. Now that we are here…” 

“That doesn’t seem like a good option,” Joe finishes, spreading out on the couch in the house’s living room. “The city is rather large.” 

“And populated.” 

“Yes, that, too.” 

Nicky takes a seat in a chair across the coffee table from Joe. Andy paces by the window, sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Nile sits on a barstool, nearest the doorway. 

“Okay, plan two.” Nile starts listing locations she’s seen in her dreams, ticking them off on her fingers. “There was the Eiffel Tower, a park, and an old multi-story building. Most recently.” 

“It’s a start,” Nicky says, and Joe nods his agreement. 

“The Eiffel Tower is easiest, of course.” Joe sits up, surveys the room. “We could start there, branch out.” 

“Andy?” Nile asks, turning to the window. “What do you think?” 

“It’s a start,” Andy echoes. “Nile, you’re with me. Joe, Nicky, we start at the Tower. You two go East, and Nile, you and I go West. Book--” She freezes, hand raised. “Right. Okay, that’s the plan. Let’s go.” Andy marches out of the room, determined. Nile follows, Nicky and Joe close behind. 

They follow the plan to a T. Start at the base of the Tower, work their way out. Nile keeps an eye out for a woman she’s seen only glimpses of; Joe and Nicky, an old friend; and Andy, a woman she never thought she’d see again, a woman who she desperately wants to hug but, at the same time, doesn’t want to confront. 

“Anything?” Andy calls over to Nile, standing a few yards away at the edge of Parc du Champ de Mars, the Eiffel Tower on the horizon. “Do you see her?” 

“No,” Nile says, craning her neck to see around the crowds of tourists. “No, not yet.” 

“That optimism fades,” Andy mutters to herself, then shakes her head.  _ Control how you live _ . Louder, so Nile can hear, she says, “Not yet.” 

Both Andy and Nile’s phones ring. They answer them simultaneously, and right as Nile says, “Hello?” Andy greets her caller with “Have you found her?” 

“Nothing so far,” is the answer they both get, courtesy of Joe, who just figured out the conference call feature on his phone and is very proud. “I guess that tells us how well you’re doing, huh?” 

“Pretty much,” Andy says, and Nile winces from the feedback on her end. 

Nile hangs up and walks over to Andy, phone in hand. “Two of us, feet away, on the same call, felt superfluous,” she explains. To Joe: “How far have you guys gotten?” 

“Not very. We’re just about to walk across the street to the first round of old, multi-story buildings,” Nicky’s voice comes across the speakerphone, barely audible over the background noise. 

“Same deal over here,” Andy says, glancing up from the phone to survey the crowds. “It might take us…”

“Andy?” Nile waves her hand in front of Andy’s face--a move that would usually earn her a swat--but Andy stands stock still, staring into the crowd. “Andy? Hello, anyone home?” 

“Call you back,” Andy murmurs, hanging up the call and pressing the phone into Nile’s palm. “Hold onto that for me, will you?” 

“Andy, I swear to god, if you don’t tell me what’s going on  _ right now _ \--”

“I see her.” 

Nile stops. Andy takes a few steps forward, pushing through a cluster of tourists trying and failing to take a selfie. They complain, but Andy doesn’t notice. She walks like a woman possessed, each step deliberate, slowly picking up speed until she’s running across the grass and Nile is forced to run after her or risk losing her in the crowds. 

“Andy!” 

Andy doesn’t stop running until she’s within earshot of a tall, composed woman with straight black hair walking briskly on the sidewalk that winds around the outside border of the park.  _ She’s crazy, _ Nile thinks, as she stops to catch her breath now that they’re clear of the crowds.  _ She’s crazy. That could be anyone. _

It’s not anyone. 

“Quynh!” Andy yells, skidding to a stop at the edge of the park and standing perfectly still. “Quynh!” 

_ What is she doing? _ Nile takes a step towards Andy, but Andy holds out an arm. Nile stays put. 

_ She’s giving her a chance to run _ . 

“Andy, are you sure--”

_ What the  _ hell _ is she thinking?  _

“Quynh, please.” 

It’s hardly more than a whisper, but the woman stiffens. Stops walking. And turns around. 

“Nile,” Andy says slowly, staring at Quynh like she’s seeing a ghost--  _ Technically _ , Nile thinks,  _ she is _ \-- and not glancing back at Nile at all, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm inordinately proud of myself that i actually got this up today lmao 
> 
> hope y'all liked it! the ~reunion is coming up in the next chapter; any theories? comments?


	3. i will not ask you where you came from

Joe and Nicky come out of nowhere, ready to strike, to fight. They advance behind Andy, a wordless question in the hesitance of their steps. 

“It’s okay,” Andy says, glancing over her shoulder. Joe nods, and Nicky lowers his gun. 

“Hello, Andromache.” 

Quynh’s voice is, Andy realizes, just as melodious as it was the day they met. There’s no trace of five hundred years of drowning on her; not in her voice, or on her face, or in her clothes or stance. But as Andy stares at Quynh, torn between joy and utter devastation, she sees one difference, so big she’s ashamed she missed it: in Quynh’s eyes, there is shadow instead of light. 

“Quynh.” Andy’s voice cracks halfway through saying the name. She takes a step forward. Quynh takes a step back. 

“I’m assuming,” Quynh says, an expression Andy can’t quite identify playing across her lips, “you found me through the new one’s dreams.” 

Nile closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.  _ Well, _ she thinks, the poison sting of being reduced to casual namelessness, however unintentionally, piercing her skin.  _ At least the dreams will stop _ . 

“I should’ve chosen somewhere less distinct,” Quynh continues, voice and stance casual, as though she isn’t reuniting with her family after five hundred years alone, five hundred years dying. “To be fair to me, though, this tower was constructed after you left me to drown. How was I to know it was unique in all the world?” 

“There’s actually a very convincing duplicate in Legoland,” Nile mutters, and Quynh laughs. Andy looks like the sound pierces her through the heart. 

“I don’t need to know what a Land of Legos is to know that  _ that _ ,” Quynh nods to Nile, “was funny.” 

Nicky steps forward and rests a gentle hand on Andy’s shoulder. Andy tenses, startled by the touch, but relaxes once she sees it’s Nicky, understanding what he’s trying to say. 

Their conversation is swallowed by the overwhelming noises of the tourists around them; a chattering group walks between Quynh and Andy, and another walks around them, neither group ever seeming to register their presence. Andy lets them pass, and when she can see Quynh again, her mask has slipped. 

“Would you…” Nicky clears his throat, glances at Andy. Andy nods; permission. “Would you like to come with us?” 

“We have a place not far from here,” Joe supplies, moving to stand closer to Nicky. “You are welcome.” 

Quynh laughs again, humorless and bitter, this time. “I have found my way alone, thank you. Booker has an apartment. I found him there.”

“So that’s how you knew about my dreams,” Nile says softly. “Of course. You’ve been having them, too.” 

“And I’m glad they will soon be over.” Quynh raises a hand. “Goodbye, Andy. It was nice to see you again.” She turns and starts to walk away. 

“Quynh, wait!” Andy runs after her. Quynh turns to watch, eyebrow arched. “I can’t just leave you. I can’t.” 

“You’ve done it once before, from my understanding. Just do it again. Can’t be that hard.” 

Andy doesn’t try to stop Quynh as she walks away a second time. 

* * *

“Where do we go from here, boss?” 

Joe’s question, the one they’ve all been thinking for an hour, doesn’t get an answer. Andy stands, in almost the same position as before, arms crossed, by the window in their safe house, staring out over the streets of Paris and trying to think. 

Trying, and failing. 

“Do we find Booker?” Nicky says dispassionately, not even pretending to be reading the book open in his lap. “Quynh said—”

“I know what she said.” 

Nicky shakes his head. “I know. I was just… thinking out loud.” 

Nile says nothing. She’s still having trouble wrapping her head around the whole thing— Quynh’s mysterious escape, the lack of dreams now that they’ve met, and Quynh’s refusal to come back with them. With Andy. 

Joe’s voice from six months prior echoes in Nile’s head, telling stories of the drowning woman in her dreams, and images of a life from five hundred years ago cycle through Nile’s head: a battle, a calm night, a desert, a hanging. The horrible weight of Andy’s grief and silence suddenly makes sense to Nile, more than it ever did before, and she sighs. 

“Whatever we do,” Nile says, looking at Andy, silhouetted against the light of the window, “if we do anything at all, whatever we do is up to you, Andy.” 

Nile isn’t even sure Andy’s listening, but she takes it as a good sign when Andy drops her arms and strides to the door. 

“Let’s go and find Booker.” 

Joe sucks in a breath and shares a charged look with Nicky. Neither of them speak; they pull up the end of the line, following Nile (who, in turn, is following Andy), out the door. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one is so short and took so long lol. life is a lot right now, but hopefully the next one will be up by the end of the week. ty for reading!


	4. what did you bury

Finding Booker is not hard. He may have been alive for over two centuries, but in all those years, he’s only ever stuck to with a few different aliases. Nile finds an apartment listing under one of them on her third try. 

“Shouldn’t take us too long to get there,” Nile says, winding her way around tourists and vendors scattered throughout the Paris streets. “You’re sure this is what you want to do, Andy?” 

Andy nods, lips pressed into a thin line. She’s not one for words, Andy. No, she does better with actions, and moving toward Quynh as fast as she can is the only thing holding Andy together. 

Joe walks slowly, murmuring to Nicky under his breath. He’s holding Nicky’s hand like it’s his lifeline, like Nicky’s his moonlight and he’s a desperate star. In a way, that’s true. 

Head bowed toward Joe, Nicky smiles, taps words of reassurance on Joe’s palm. Somehow, despite the crowds lingering wherever they turn, the two of them pass seamlessly through, never once weaving away or spilling bumbling apologies. 

“This is it.” Nile stops suddenly in front of a decrepit old apartment building. She shoves her hands in her pockets and stares up at all three stories of it-- the water stained windows, the peeling paint, the chipped doors. “We’re here.” 

“You’re sure?” Nicky says, and Nile nods. 

“I’m sure.” 

“Where do we go from here?” Joe asks, moving to the door. 

“I found which apartment is his,” Nile says, proffering a hastily folded piece of paper from the depths of her pocket. “First one on the right, I think.” 

Andy opens the door and steps inside. 

“Guess we’re going in.” 

The entryway they find themselves in is somehow in even worse shape than the front of the building outside. Andy wastes no time in taking the few steps necessary to reach the first door on the right; with one finger, she traces the doorjamb, sticky with spilled booze.

“This is the place.” She takes a step back, looks over the door. The lock is broken, the paint discolored. “Let’s hope somebody’s home.” 

“Should we, though?” Joe mutters, loud enough so that only Nicky can hear him. Nicky laughs mirthlessly.

Andy glances over her shoulder at them, at her team. Despite her best efforts, her gaze softens, and her fondness for them seeps through; fondness for Joe, the artist, the optimist, the one she knows will always be there with a sparkle in his eye and a complete willingness to talk shit when she needs to; for Nicky, the believer, the most patient man the world has ever known, the one she can rely on to have her back and make absolutely amazing baklava; for Nile, the newest, and yet the one Andy finds herself relying on more and more as months pass and the only remedy for her aches and pains is the bright curiosity and wonder in Nile’s eyes whenever Andy tells stories of a millenia Nile has only heard of in history books. 

The longer Andy stands in front of the door she knows is Booker’s, the door she knows Quynh is somewhere behind, the less she finds herself able to move. 

“You go first, Andy,” Nile says from somewhere behind her, voice soft. “You always go first.” 

Andy clenches her shaking hand into a fist. “Ready?” 

“When you are.” 

Andy nods, jaw clenched. 

They don’t go in guns blazing. They go in softly, each footstep given form only by the creaking of the hardwood. 

It’s a small apartment--tiny, really--and Booker has quite clearly not gotten the hang of moving in yet. There’s stuff scattered everywhere, on every surface: clothes and books and empty bottles, mostly. Andy catches a glimpse of a woman’s sweater thrown over a chair and her breath catches in her throat. 

“You alright?” Nicky asks, voice barely audible. Andy nods, mind clearly elsewhere. 

“Only one room left,” Joe says from the other end of the apartment, standing in front of a half-closed door. “Andy?” 

“On three,” Andy says. She takes two and a half quick steps to the door and, after making absolutely no effort to actually count, taps the door the rest of the way open. 

Quynh is the first thing Andy sees. She takes in the bedroom--small, just one cot pushed up against the wall, a chair by the window, floor strewn with more clothes--as quickly as possible, trusting her team to pick up any immediate threats. 

Completely oblivious, it seems, to Andy’s presence in the doorway, Quynh takes a drawn-out sip of water from the glass in her hand and flips to the next page of her book. Without looking up, she says, unable to hide the way her voice cracks, “I see you’re just as determined and stubborn as I remember.” 

“To be honest,” Andy whispers, leaning heavily on the wall, “I wasn’t sure you remembered at all.” 

The door creaks shut behind her--Nile, probably--and Andy takes Quynh’s lack of immediate rejection as permission to stay. She hesitantly sits on the very edge of the cot, eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at the sunbathed, dry,  _ alive _ face of Quynh, sitting in the chair by the window and reading as though their meeting at the park never happened, as though she hasn’t been lost to Andy for five hundred years. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Quynh looks up at that, eyes catching the light. Andy swears, for half a moment, that she sees tears. 

“For what?” Quynh closes her book and sets it and the water glass on the windowsill. “For what, Andromache?” 

“I go…” Andy takes a deep breath. “I go by Andy, now.” 

Quynh smiles. “You will always be Andromache to me, I think, but if you want me to, I will call you Andy.” She rolls the word on her tongue, the sound foreign and wrong. “ _ Andy _ .” 

“No,” Andy says, shaking her head. “No, Andromache is fine.”

“You didn’t say.” 

“Say what?” 

“What you are sorry for.” 

“You’re really going to make me say it, huh.” 

“You misunderstand me,” Quynh says, twisting her hands in her lap. “I don’t see what you have to be sorry for.” 

“But you said-- in the park-- ‘Left me to--’”

“To drown, yes.” Quynh looks at Andy, meets her eyes. Takes in the angles of her face, the curve of her shoulders, the cut up fingers from all the times Andy had forgotten she didn’t heal in a heartbeat over the past months. Absorbs every line, every detail she’d missed in her eon under the sea; not actively, mind, but when she got out on pure chance because of a perfectly rusted bolt and pulled herself out of the sea, the first thing Quynh realized was not that she could taste the sunlight, feel the ground, or hear the birds, but that Andromache’s face had faded in her memory. 

She wasn’t about to let that happen again. 

“I wanted…” Quynh’s eyes land on the necklace, Andy’s necklace,  _ her _ necklace, and her voice wobbles. “I wanted to make you hurt like I have. I wanted… I wanted vengeance.” She reaches for the necklace, but pulls back at the last second. “I didn’t realize that you’ve been hurting for just as long as I have been.” 

Andy exhales, long and low. “I’m sorry, Quynh. I tried. I looked… I searched for you. I tracked down the men from that ship until there weren’t any more to find. I stole their logs. I spent  _ years _ going up and down that coast, diving wherever I had a lead, trying to find you. Nicky and Joe helped, and they would’ve kept helping as long as I asked, but…” 

“Time passes,” Quynh says gently, and tears prick Andy’s eyes as she thinks of all that Quynh has gone through because of her, and been forced to survive on her own. “Time passes, and we lose.” 

Quynh rests a hand next to Andy’s knee on the cot. Andy takes Quynh’s hand in hers and holds it tight, a tear rolling free down her cheek. 

“I missed you,” Andy whispers, “with everything I had.” 

“I missed you more,” Quynh says with a watery smile. Andy leans forward and rests her forehead against Quynh’s, feels Quynh’s breath on her lips. 

“Impossible.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all about the yearning, babey! 
> 
> second to last chapter! i promised a happy ending, and i will deliver, i swear; the soft epilogue should be up within a few days. tysm for reading- kudos & comments are greatly appreciated <3


	5. pull me from the earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter starts directly after chapter 4 ends, time-wise 
> 
> tw alcohol/implied alcoholism, starting with paragraph 12 (“And then Booker is in the doorway”) and ending at the beginning of paragraph 25 (““No, thanks.’”).  
> stay safe, yall <3

In the living room, meanwhile, Joe cleans off a chair for himself and Nicky to sit on. Nile situates herself on a chair in the kitchen, which, compared to the rest of the apartment, is actually pretty clean. 

“I’ll bet you two hundred that we’ll be out here waiting for at least an hour,” Nicky says to Joe, a poorly concealed smirk lighting up his face. 

“I am not a betting man, Nicolo,” Joe says fondly, resting his forehead on Nicky’s shoulder, “but I wouldn’t take that bet even if I was.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because I’d lose,” Joe laughs, and it looks to Nile like Nicky actually glows. 

“That’s true, you would.” 

Silence ebbs into the room, but it’s of the comfortable sort. Nile rests her chin in her hands and stares out the kitchen window at the streets outside. The people watching in Paris is, she finds, very entertaining, and she makes a silent game out of counting the number of people she sees wearing purple, or stripes, or high heels as they walk by. Nicky and Joe lean against each other and close their eyes, taking advantage of their few minutes of quiet by taking a nap. Joe’s fingers automatically find the sleeve of Nicky’s shirt, and he rolls the fabric in his sleep, twisting it up and unravelling it in turn. 

A crash sounds in the hallway outside the door. Nile sits bolt upright; Joe startles awake, and Nicky’s gun is already drawn. 

“Shit,” Nile mutters, connecting the dots before Joe and Nicky, still groggy, do. 

“What?” A pause. “Oh.”

Nicky puts his gun away. 

And then Booker is in the doorway, smelling of drink despite the early hour, gun in his hand and stepping nonchalantly over the shards of the bottle he just dropped. 

He takes one look at them--at Joe, sitting in the chair; Nicky, standing next to him; and Nile, still by the kitchen window--sighs, and drops his gun. 

“Hey, guys.”

Joe nods. Nile sends him a small wave. 

“So. You’ve clearly made yourselves at home.” Booker sweeps an arm out over the room. “‘S nothing fancy, but it works for me.”

“You’re not going to ask us why we’re here?” Nile, incredulous, steps forward. “I would’ve thought you’d be, I dunno…” 

“More surprised?” Booker scoffs. “Nah, I’m just here, living out my hundred years. I deserve it, I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself, right?” He stumbles to the fridge and pulls out a beer. “Cheers.” 

It’s obvious, from the alcohol to the mess, that Booker is not, in fact, enjoying himself. 

“And,” he holds up the beer as if in a toast, “I know why you’re here.”

“You do?” Nicky sounds surprised. 

“I do.” Booker points to the closed door on the other side of the room. “Andy’s in there, right? With Quynh?” 

“Yeah,” Nile says, still taking in this very different Booker. “She is. They’re… working it out.” 

“Mhmm.” The beer is gone. Booker seems proud. “I’m sorry, I’m a terrible host. Can I get you guys anything?” 

“No, thanks. Sorry to just show up like this.” Nile glances at Joe, who, at some point, has stood up, and is now standing so close to Nicky they look like they could morph into one being. “How has, um.” Nile mouths  _ help me out, here! _ to them, but neither of them speak. “How’s it been?” 

“Oh, you know. This and that. Fine.” 

“Right.” 

Nile leans back against the kitchen countertop and exhales. Joe and Nicky are communicating between themselves, something only the two of them understand. Nicky’s grip on Joe’s forearm is tightening, and it looks like Joe is trying to reassure him, calm him; Nile looks away. 

Booker, mumbling something about a waste of a bottle to himself, drops into the chair Joe and Nicky vacated. He doesn’t try to start conversation, or even make eye contact; just sits and stares at the floor. 

Just as Nile starts to genuinely consider pouring all the alcohol in the fridge down the drain, just to see what happens, the door at the end of the room opens and Andy and Quynh emerge, hands entwined, Andy the most relaxed Nile has ever seen her. 

“Booker!” Andy’s smile is so genuine, the room lightens a shade. She lets go of Quynh’s hand and pulls Booker to his feet and into a hug. “I never thought I’d see you again, Book.” 

Booker stares at Andy, his expression unreadable. “Andy.” 

“In the flesh. Sorry to surprise you like this, we just--”

“Nile said the same thing,” Booker says, waving off Andy’s apologies. “It’s fine. I understand.” 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry.” There’s some double-meaning there, something they’re both saying and not-saying, but when they step away from each other there is no bottled up resentment or regret.  _ Clean slate _ , Andy thinks, feeling a little lightheaded.  _ If I weren’t so used to nightmares, I’d say this is a dream _ . 

Quynh stays at the edge of the room while Booker and Andy reunite. She isn’t quite sure where to look; standing everywhere is either a memory or a dream. 

Joe, after getting over his initial shock, strides over to Quynh with absolutely no delay. “Quynh!” His smile is so full of sunlight it crinkles his eyes, and he looks as though he might burst. “Permission to hug you?” 

“Permission granted.” Quynh smiles after the briefest hesitation, and some of her old warmth returns to the depths of her eyes. 

Joe spins her around, and Quynh’s laughter echoes in the apartment. She’d hesitated, in giving the hug; a part of her thought it would be confining and too close, like the cage, like the sea. But where the cage was cold and icy, Joe is warm and bright, and to Quynh, it’s one of the best hugs in the world. 

“I’m sorry,” Quynh says, once she’s back on the ground. “For earlier, for what I said, I--”

“There is nothing,” Joe says, putting a hand on Quynh’s shoulder and meeting her eyes, “ _ nothing _ for you to apologise for. Understand? Nothing. If anything, we should be the ones who are sorry.” 

“And we are.” Nicky, out of nowhere, is behind Joe, as nervous as the day they first met. “We are so sorry, Quynh.” 

“It seems it is my turn to say that there are no apologies needed, from either of you.” Quynh looks at Joe, then Nicky. “None.”

Nicky smiles. “Well, then, there is just one thing left. Permission to hug?” 

“Granted.” 

Nile, standing in comfortable quiet with Andy and Booker, catches herself staring at Quynh. She’s a dream, a phantom from the sea, reborn into new light, new life. As Quynh and Nicky hug, and Joe laughs at something Nicky says, Nile tries to match the glowing woman before her with the prisoner from the cage. She can’t. 

“Go and say hi,” Andy says, nudging Nile’s shoulder. “She’s just as curious as you are.” 

Nile gives Andy a look. “Are you sure? I don’t want to…” She gestures vaguely. “Interrupt.” 

“Don’t worry,” Andy says, and it strikes Nile again just how happy Andy is. “They’ve got eternity to catch up.” 

“If you say so. But if it’s a disaster, I blame you.” 

“Go ahead.” 

Nile, trying to look like she’s just casually wandering, walks over to Quynh, Joe, and Nicky, who appear to be poking fun at each other over past cooking disasters. 

“And that, Quynh, is why Joe hasn’t tried to cook fish again in five hundred years.” 

“Hmm. Makes sense.” 

“Hey! My fish-cooking skills are just fine.” Joe pokes Nicky’s shoulder, and Nicky laughs. They continue their exchange in Arabic, too fast for even Quynh to track. 

“Hey.” Nile waves, mentally kicking herself for her less than stellar opener. “How’s it going over here?” 

“Come, Joe, we will tidy these dishes,” Nicky says, still smiling at something Joe said. “Someone will have to make dinner tonight. Might as well be us.” 

“Just as long as it’s not fish.” Joe, delighted to have made Nicky smile, leads him over to the sink. The two of them tackle the dirty dish pile bravely, though they’re up to their elbows in suds almost immediately. 

Nile watches them go, one part glad and two parts very, very nervous. Quynh never takes her eyes off of Nile. 

“You’re the newest one, I assume.” Quynh is deliberately neutral in both stance and expression. “I’m Quynh, the first after Andromache.”

“I know.” Nile takes the hand Quynh offers and shakes it. “I’m Nile, been here for a little more than six months. But I guess you know that, since the whole dream-thing works both ways.” 

“It does,” Quynh says, and a hint of a smile peeks through her steady visage. “Are you going to stop shaking my hand, or is this some sort of new greeting I’ve missed?” 

“Oh! Sorry, sorry.” Nile lets go, sheepishly rubbing her palm on her thigh. “I’m just nervous, I guess. I’ve seen you for so long in my dreams, and--” She cuts herself off and pulls Quynh into a hug. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you.” Nile pulls back just as quickly as she pulled Quynh in. “But we’ve got eternity to make it up, get to know each other. I hope we can be friends.” 

“We will be more than friends, Nile. We will be family.” Quynh hugs Nile, this time, catching her off guard. “I am glad that you have been here for Andromache. And I’m sorry for--”

“Quynh,” Nile says earnestly. “I will admit, some of it stung, but there’s no need. All’s well that ends well, right?” 

Quynh smiles, honest and infectious; Nile smiles, too. “I’m glad.” 

“Me, too.” 

“See!” Andy appears out of nowhere and throws her arms around them. “I told you it would be fine.” She presses a kiss to Quynh’s forehead. “Let’s go see about dinner then, hm? I bet Nicky and Joe are cooking fish.” 

“They better not be!” Booker walks past them to the kitchen, considerably more sober now than a half an hour ago. Immortal genes, hey? “I’ve never had Joe’s fish, but from what I’ve heard, it’s not exactly something to seek out.”

“Hey!” Joe, finishing up the last of the dishes while Nicky rifles through the fridge looking for supplies, points a sudsy finger at Booker. “Watch your mouth, young man! I’m great at cooking fish, you’re all just cowards.” 

“He’s got a point, Book,” Andy teases, and Quynh laughs. 

“I missed this.” 

“And I missed you.” Andy releases Nile, who scrambles out of the way before she gets stuck between Quynh kissing Andy. “Nile, where’re you going?” 

“Helping Nicky! Nicky needs help, right, Nicky?” 

Nicky straightens in front of the fridge, holding a red onion in one hand and a half-full jar of peanut butter in the other. “Indeed I do, Nile, because apparently Booker here doesn’t ever need to eat regular food. We’re going to need a shopping list.” 

“Oh, thank god. I’ll go find paper.” 

“I eat real food! Peanut butter counts as real food!” Booker takes a stack of plates off of Joe’s ‘cleaned’ pile and starts putting them back in a cupboard. “It’s made of peanuts, and, uh… butter… those are real things, is my point.” 

“I don’t know how you survived these months without us,” Nicky says, tossing the red onion at him. “It’s a good thing we’re discarding the hundred years.”

Booker ducks the onion on instinct. “Wait, what?” 

“Yeah, we thought we’d give it another shot. What with Quynh, and Andy…” Joe hands Booker a glass. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that and put that glass away, though, we might change our minds.” 

Booker numbly shoves the glass into the first drawer he finds. “I… thank you. I don’t deserve that, I… thanks. Thank you.” 

“We know,” Nicky says happily, dropping the peanut butter jar into the trash and walking over to Nile who, having found paper, is ready to write down the grocery list. 

“One condition, though.” 

“Anything.” 

“Nile’s our new tech guy.” Joe nods to Nile, currently leaning on the counter and scribbling down grocery items as Nicky thinks of them. He looks back at Booker, who nods. 

“Works for me. She’s better with those stupid wiffy things, anyway.” 

Joe smiles. “That she is.” 

“Hey, guys! Before Nicky and Nile hit the grocery, we should play twenty questions!” Andy calls from her criss-cross position on the living area floor next to Quynh. 

“With or without shots?” Nicky asks, pausing his grocery dictation. 

“You know my vote,” Booker shrugs. 

“I’m thinking no shots,” Nile says, pen still hovering over the paper. “We need to be sober if our main goal for tonight is not burning down this building in an attempt to make dinner.” 

“You’re no fun,” Andy says, but she winks at Nile. 

“I agree with you, Nile. Burning down the building would not be the best of reunions,” Quynh says with a grin. “Memorable, though.” 

“I’ll give you that.” 

The room dissolves into chatter as Nicky remembers to add lentils to the list, Nile multitasks writing ‘lentils’ down and keeping up a conversation with Joe, and Booker, Quynh, and Andy alternate between coming up with new, terrible ideas for games with shots and participating in Nile and Joe’s increasingly riveting conversation about French city layouts. 

The afternoon is young, most of the team is old, and with a complex but no doubt delicious dish of whatever Nicky’s planning on the way, it’s shaping up to be, in Quynh’s words, “the best of reunions.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andy: nile where are u going  
> nile, doing her best to avoid getting stuck between her mentor and her mentor’s immortal wife: uh *checks notes* épicerie
> 
> ~
> 
> that’s all, folks! thanks for sticking with me for all five chapters. hope u enjoyed the ending, and happy spooky season!

**Author's Note:**

> title from hozier’s song of the same name 
> 
> i know i promised less angst this time, but i couldn’t help myself; i’m a sucker for the post-canon plots and explanations, and was inspired by [ChasetheWindTouchtheSky’s “In Exile, Seeing You Out”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792675/chapters/62648236), so i thought i’d try one out myself :P please let me know what you think! i’m always looking for feedback and encouragement <3
> 
> should update every couple days or so!


End file.
